


Eggnog

by itsallhushhush



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Uncle-Niece Relationship, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 19:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17269469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallhushhush/pseuds/itsallhushhush
Summary: It had started with a dare.Jeyne had dared her to take—and drink—an entire cup of the “adults only” eggnog. Sansa had refused, initially, scoffing at the notion—it was above her to do such a childish thing. But when Jeyne muttered the word chicken, Sansa glared at her and walked straight toward the punch bowl—she was anything but a chicken.





	Eggnog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts).



> I had planned to surprise @tommyginger with this for Christmas, but I got sick and couldn’t finish it on time! So this is a belated Christmas gift to her! Please enjoy!

It had started with a dare. 

Jeyne had dared her to take—and drink—an entire cup of the “adults only” eggnog. Sansa had refused, initially, scoffing at the notion—it was above her to do such a childish thing. But when Jeyne muttered the word  _ chicken _ , Sansa glared at her and walked straight toward the punch bowl—she was anything but a chicken. 

Calmly and without arousing any onlookers she had been able to pour herself a full cup of the drink. Then, once finished, she had walked back to Jeyne’s side and drank the entire cup without flinching—even though the alcohol bit at her tongue unpleasantly. 

It was after that, that the dare turned into a game. 

When Sansa finished the drink the two girls wanted to see how much further they could take things. So, they decided that they would see how much of the adult’s eggnog they could actually drink without anyone catching them. It seemed like such an exciting game to them, as neither of them had ever drank alcohol before, and with all the adults around it made it that much more risky to do so. They knew full well that if they were to get  caught they would be in so much trouble. But once the drink was in the glass there was really no way of knowing if it was virgin or not—unless you could smell or taste it. 

Quickly becoming inebriated they giggled and danced with one another the rest of the evening, and by the time Jeyne had to leave the Christmas party they were already three drinks in. 

Once her friend had left, Sansa was feeling much braver than she had been earlier in the night so, much to her own delight, she continued to play the game by herself.

Scanning the crowd of lavishly dressed adults quickly, she waltzed back over to the drinks table. Once there she thought she was so clever as she scooped one ladle of the virgin eggnog into her glass. If anyone was watching, surely that would convince them she had been drinking it all night, but then she scooted to the left and filled the rest of her glass with the adult drink, all the while never imagining that someone might be watching her. Doing everything she could to seem inconspicuous she walked away from the table and into the hallway, which was out of sight of all the adults. 

When she took a sip from her glass the eggnog didn’t seem to have the same kick it had had previously, but she chalked it up to having diluted the drink—not because she was becoming more tipsy than she realized. She walked the hall until she found a bathroom and then slipped inside, in effort to keep from someone seeing her.

Inside the bathroom she gazed at herself in the mirror—her cheeks were flushed and rosy. Biting her lip she giggled to herself and she twisted from side to side, admiring her dress. Though her playful demeanour quickly shattered when she heard footsteps coming down the hall.

Her heart jumped in her chest and she scrambled to close the door—nearly dropping her drink in the attempt—but before she could close it there was a hand on the other side pushing it open. 

Sansa stepped back, tripping over her feet in the process, and swiftly hid the drink behind her back. When the door pushed open entirely, her uncle Petyr was standing before her.

Petyr stared at her and she swallowed nervously. “What are you doing in here?” He asked, eyes narrowing at her, knowing full well she was up to no good.

“I have to pee,” she blurted. Surely he knew why someone would be in the bathroom. 

Petyr looked her up and down and watched as she began to fidget nervously. “Do you?” He posed, still staring at her intently.  

“Yes,” she lied staring back at him.

“What are you holding behind your back then?” He questioned further, even though he already knew. He’d been watching her and Jeyne's antics all night. 

Sansa hesitated, trying to think of a lie, but she continued to draw a blank. “Nothing,” she said, stupidly. Had she been sober she would have said a tampon—he would have definitely left her alone then. 

Petyr walked into the bathroom and stepped toward her quickly, as if to look behind her back, but in her effort to avoid him seeing the drink, she bumped into the sink and it dropped from her hand, spilling all over the floor. Before she could even think about reaching down and grabbing the cup Petyr had it in his hand. 

Looking her straight in the eye Petyr brought the cup to his nose and the distinct scent of vodka filled his senses. He paused a moment and then smirked. “You’ve been drinking,” he said simply. 

“I haven’t,” Sansa replied as she stood in a puddle of spiked eggnog. The evidence was all around her. 

“I think you’re lying to me,” he said, and placed the empty cup on the sink. 

“I wouldn’t. I swear,” Sansa protested in vain. 

“So...you wouldn’t lie about sneaking drinks from the adults’ eggnog all night?” Sansa froze in place before his very eyes. “I saw you both...you and Jeyne,” he revealed and Sansa was speechless

“You didn’t say anything,” she said and her brow furrowed at the thought of Petyr watching them. He watched them all night long as they had grown more giggly and tipsy by the hour, and he hadn’t said a word.

“And ruin your fun?” Petyr smirked. “Besides, even if I hadn’t seen you do the crime, I wouldn’t be fooled by your demeanour now. Unbalanced, glassy eyes, and smelling of alcohol...I’m not stupid.” Oh he surely had her right where he wanted her now, and it delighted him to no end. 

She had been caught. There was no doubt about that. She couldn’t lie her way out of this one—she was a terrible liar anyway. The only thing she could do to avoid an epic grounding, would be to swear him to secrecy. Petyr didn’t benefit in any way from telling on her, so surely he would agree to not say anything. Right?

“Are you going to tell on me?” She asked, cautiously, and stared at him with pleading eyes. Petyr eyed her and stepped back, his hand pressing the door closed behind him, and the room suddenly felt a whole lot smaller, especially with the way he was looking at her. 

“I think I could be  _ convinced _ not to,” Petyr said with a smirk playing at his lips. He had been watching her all night, thinking about how he could possibly get her alone, and now that he had her alone he was going to take advantage of it. 

Sansa stared at him, and heard the sound of the door lock clicking closed. “Convinced?” she repeated back to him. 

“Mmm,” Petyr hummed. “I want you to convince me not to tell…how do you suppose you could do that?”

Sansa’s brow furrowed once again. She wasn’t quite like other fourteen year old girls her age. While most of her peers had boyfriends and were exploring sex, she was much more naive. She hadn’t even kissed a boy yet, let alone experienced anything of a sexual nature. She just wasn’t at that level yet. Though, had she not been so drunk she might have caught on to her uncle’s suggestive tone.

“I—I don’t know,” she stammered and fidgeted in place. Petyr was staring at her so intently it made her feel uneasy, like she was under some kind of inspection that she hadn’t prepared for. 

“How about I make things a little more clear for you,” Petyr said and stepped toward her. 

She stepped back on instinct, but was stopped when the bathtub clipped the back of her knees. Petyr kept moving closer and everything seemed to blur together as he caught hold of her face and pressed his mouth to hers. 

Had she not been drunk on eggnog she surely would have squirmed away from him and ran out the door, but at this rate she couldn’t fathom getting loose, and for some reason the feeling of his lips on hers made her stomach twirl in such a pleasant way. And when his hands moved to her neck and he deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her mouth, she obliged.

Pulling away from the embrace Petyr sat back on the toilet and stared at her with dark, lustful eyes and Sansa stared back, breathless, hardly able to comprehend what had just happened. Petyr just kissed her. Her uncle just had his mouth on hers...and his tongue was—she let out a shaky breath. 

Was it bad that she wanted to do it again?

“Come here,” Petyr said, his voice low, and Sansa moved toward him on her own accord. 

When she was close enough, Petyr pulled her onto his lap and her soft, cotton dress road up her thighs. Her breathing quickened as he touched her—his hands were on her waist and then her back as he pulled her in for another kiss. Clumsily she kissed him back and even though she was horribly uncoordinated she persisted. The feeling of his mouth on hers, the scratch of his moustache against her lips, and his tongue sliding against her own sent shivers coursing through her body liked she’d never experienced before. 

Sansa squirmed in his lap and as she kissed him back she pushed impossibly closer to him so that she was straddling him. Her dress rode further up her thighs, exposing soft, supple skin and when Petyr’s hand found one of those thighs she pulled back from the kiss. 

Her arms were around his neck and she stared at him closely, her eyes nearly crossing in the attempt and Petyr’s hand continued to touch—his thumb rubbing circles on her inner thigh and daring to move higher. 

Petyr stared back at her, his gaze steady and unfaltering and when his hand inched further up her thigh, Sansa only nodded. It was all the permission he needed. 

Deftly his hand slipped beneath her dress, until his fingers brushed against thin, cotton panties. He wasn’t surprised to find them damp to the touch, as it didn’t take much to get her young body excited. His fingers moved along the fabric teasingly until he found the ever-so-slightly pronounced nub he was looking for. He wiggled his finger over the spot and she squirmed—her thighs pulling closed just a little. 

“You like that?” He whispered and she buried her face into his shoulder, nodding against it, and when he moved his finger over the spot once more she pressed herself into his hand. 

Touching herself in such a way wasn’t something she allowed herself to do very often, especially knowing that it wasn’t something good girls did. So she had definitely never imagined how nice it would feel to have someone else touch her that way, especially such a skilled hand, and she whimpered into his shoulder when his fingers slid inside her panties. 

He touched her warmth, the wetness of her only aiding in his attempt, and he was gentle as he slid a finger between her lips. As his thumb moved upward to brush over her clit, his finger slid lower to find her entrance, and her muffled gasps against his shoulder encourage him onward.

When he pushed a finger inside her Sansa was overwhelmed. She whimpered louder and her fingers curled into the fabric of his suit jacket.  _ That _ —that was never something she had done before and as he carefully worked a finger in and out of her she couldn’t help but squirm and make embarrassing noises in response. 

“You’re really tight, do you think I could get another finger in?” He asked with his mouth pressed hot against her ear and Sansa whimpered in response. She could barely comprehend his words with the way he was touching her. 

Nevertheless he pressed another finger alongside the first and pushed them inside her. She inhaled sharply at the intrusion—it was much more pain then pleasure as he stretched her open. The tips of her fingers turned white as she fisted his jacket and she bit her lip hard. 

She was about to speak, about to tell him it was far too much, until his thumb began circling her clit once again. The added pleasure was enough for her to bear through the pain and after a moment or so, the pain quickly fell away to reveal increased pleasure.

He worked his fingers inside her, curling them carefully, until she was a writhing, whimpering mess above him.

“Petyr, Petyr,” she gasped as the feeling of pleasure in her body climbed to some unknown place. “I can’t...I can’t,” she muttered threw heavy breaths. “I think I might pee,” she finally whined, hoping it was enough to make him stop.

But instead of stopping, Petyr only smiled to himself and quickened his pace. He was far more in tune with her body than she was. Making sure to give extra attention to her sensitive, swollen clit, he could feel the telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.

Then, all at once, she tightened around his fingers and her body shuddered. She moaned against his neck as her pleasure enveloped her and he continued to finger her through it—making sure she felt every drop of euphoria that was possible.

Pulling his fingers from inside her, he carefully stroked her tender clit once more and she whimpered, her body quivering against him.

For a moment she was just slumped there against him, unable to move, the blissful experience having temporarily paralyzed her and her ability to process what had just happened. It wasn’t until she felt Petyr’s hand squeeze her thigh that she came back to her senses. 

Sitting up abruptly Sansa stared at Petyr wide-eyed and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he smirked back at her.  _ What had she done? _ The thought echoed through her head and she quickly moved from her uncle’s welcoming lap. 

The grin on his face made her stomach twist with shame and she back away from him, her eyes on the floor, until her back was against the wall.

Standing, Petyr fixed his jacket, buttoning it at the waist and then stepped toward her until they were almost touching. Seeing the look of embarrassment on her face was borderline titillating for him and he smiled as he looked down upon her. With a soft thud, the palm of his hand pressed against the wall on one side of her head, and he lean forward ever so slightly to speak into her ear, “I think you’ve convinced me to keep quiet about the drinking...for now.”

Sansa had held her breath the moment Petyr stepped near her and she stared so hard at the floor it was if her life depended on it. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look Petyr in the face again and it wasn’t until he backed away and left—closing the door behind him—that she let herself breathe again.

Standing there, alone in the bathroom, she eyed the thin layer of eggnog that remained on the floor and she couldn’t help feeling ashamed about what had happened—about what she allowed him to do to her.

If it wouldn’t have been for the eggnog, she would never have let it happen. But if it wouldn’t have been for the dare, she wouldn’t have drank the eggnog. 

This was all Jeyne’s fault.

 


End file.
